Out of America
by vain-flower
Summary: Harry is not the savior of the wizarding world, his parents are. Can he live up to their expectations? Language,WIP,Slash,AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: For fun not profit.

Okay, totally AU. Harry's parents are the ones who killed Lord Voldemort, they're currently living in New York, but are about to move back to England so Harry can start his fourth year at Hogwarts.

Quodpot and several other small details have been thoroughly researched by yours truly so everything else is as accurate as possible.

* * *

Harry Potter was alone in his room, eating saltines and tomato soup, alone and miserable. This was really nothing out of the ordinary however, and that's what bugged him. His parents were out at some party which Harry had not been invited to. That bugged him as well. They were always going out to celebrations that did not include him, though, so he supposed he ought to be used to it.

He hadn't asked to be the child of Lily and James Potter, fucking saviors of the wizarding world, hadn't asked to have those shoes to fill.

"It's not fair," he whispered to his empty room, as if saying it might change the fact. "It's not fair that I've got all these things expected of me." He was his own person, dammit, no matter how much he looked like his father. He wished someone--anyone--realized that.

At least they were moving back to England, he told himself, and that thought consoled him at least a little bit. He _hated_ America, and he really, really hated Cunningham's Middle School for Aspiring Wizards and had no doubt he'd hate high school just as much if not more. But luckily enough for him, he'd be starting as a fourth year at Hogwarts, his parent's old school which, strangely enough, combined both middle and highschool and that was just weird. He knew some old friends who'd already gone their first three years there and he couldn't wait to see them.

His parents had had some difficulty getting his credits transferred, though Dumbledore, the headmaster, had been as helpful as was possible. He'd be taking all the core requirements he would have been had he still been attending Cunningham's, but would most unfortunately have to be taking Divination with third years because of something having to do with Herbology being a required course at Hogwarts. He'd been taking it anyways, to help with some of his Potions work, but, since he no longer needed it as an elective, he'd had to sign up for another one. He was glad, however, that he was still able to take Ancient Runes with his own year.

His parents, of course, had told him all about the teachers and the classes and the moving staircases and such and the only thing he worried about was the fact that some of the teachers might already have some preconceived notions about him. God, that would be a nightmare. They'd also told him about the four houses, which he thought was also weird. At his middle school, the only competition they had was with other schools, during games of Quodpot or occasionally during those annoying intramural games that only happened once in awhile.

His father wanted him to play Quidditch, of course, for Gryffindor, but Harry wasn't all that interested in it. He liked Quodpot, and would miss it. He was damned good at it, if he did say so himself and had only once had the Quod blow up on him during a game. His parents always came to watch, but he could tell that they weren't very enthusiastic about the whole thing. They just didn't get it. He sighed, doubting very much that Hogwarts had a Quodpot team, but thought that maybe he could start one.

He rolled over onto his stomach, thinking. He was worried about this whole "house rivalry" thing. His parents had both been in Gryffindor and were so sure that he, too, would be sorted into their old house that they kept saying "when" as opposed to "if" as though it was a given or maybe that it had already been arranged.

But that couldn't be right. His parents had also told him about the sorting hat, which he thought was a bit silly. He thought for a moment that it might be funny to get sorted into Slytherin, just to cause his parents a bit of agony. He'd been told all about the Slytherin's of course, and his parents' old rivals and the pranks they that his father and his friends, the Marauders--God, what a silly name--had pulled on them.

His father was even going to loan him his invisibility cloak and some sort of map of Hogwarts and had made Harry promise not to tell his mother; she'd never approve. Both gifts were already packed along with the rest of his things, some of which had already been sent to their house in Godric's Hollow, the one Harry had grown up in. They'd be flooing the the following afternoon and then they'd go to Diagon Alley for the first time in ages--he really missed London, New York just couldn't compare--to buy his fourth year supplies, the list of which had already been owled to him.

The first day of school would be starting as he and his parents took care of the last minute things but his first year at Hogwarts wouldn't begin until a full fifteen days later. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be let out until June.

He polished off the rest of the crackers and soup and rolled off his bed to fumble through the pouches of one of his bags, searching for the Marauder's map. He pulled out his wand and murmured "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and watched in awe as it unfolded, little squiggling lines writhing across the worn paper and small dots appearing with little scrolls above their heads reading "Albus Dumbledore", who seemed to be pacing in his office, "Rubeus Hagrid", who was walking across the entrance hall towards the front doors and "Severus Snape" who was motionless in the dungeons.

His parents had told him all about Professor Snape and how they had been in the same year. "Slimy, greasy git," his father had said with a sneer, "always sticking his abnormally large nose into other people's business." His mother had given James a reproving look but had said nothing. Snape, he had found out, was the head of Slytherin house and therefore he obviously favored them, also having been in Slytherin himself. Harry had been told that if Snape was giving him a hard time that James would personally come to Hogwarts and beat the stuffing out of him. This was said when Lily had left the room, but Harry didn't really plan on it. What an embarassment to have one's parents arrive at school to sort something like i that /i out. He was a big boy and could handle himself, though he hadn't told his father that much.

He watched as another dot appeared through the fireplace, one labeled "Lucius Malfoy". He had heard of the Malfoys, from his godfather, Sirius, whose first cousin, Narcissa, had married Lucius, though they avoided speaking about that part of his godfather's family.

He wished he could see what they were saying, but that seemed to be a bit beyond the map's power, though he figured it would still come in handy once September arrived.

He heard a door slam downstairs and he whispered a hurried "Mishchief managed" before slipping the paper back into his bag where he had gotten it from.

"Harry?" he heard his mother call up the stairs. "Are you still up?"

He went to his door and opened it. "Yeah," he said, reaching the stairs. "What time is it?"

"A little after midnight, son," his father said, hanging his coat on the rack next to the door. "You should be in bed by now."

Harry resisted the urge to tell his father that he was old enough now not to need an early bed time, but he knew the argument would be useless. His parents seemed to think he was going through some sort of phase, but he had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. "I'm not tired," he announced instead, though he felt a yawn coming on.

His parents exchanged glances which annoyed him further, but they didn't push, letting him sit next to them on the couch as they listened to the Wizarding Wireless Network, but he was asleep withing minutes.

Lily pushed his hair back from his face and kissed his forehead.

* * *

Reviews are appreciated. 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to all who reviewed.

This is going to be a Harry/Draco, which I think was a question raised in one of the reviews, but I can't honestly remember. Maybe some other pairings later. I'm intending for this to be long and involved.

* * *

Godric's Hollow was just as he remembered it, if a little smaller. His parents made quick work of the unpacking as Harry lay back on the couch to both watch and keep out of the way of the various objects flying through the air. He wished he could do magic here, in London, but there were new rules to abide by, ones somewhat more restricting than America's. In New York, he could do magic, as long as he was supervised, without getting bitched at by the Ministry for whatever clause in the rigoddamndiculous Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Reasonable his arse, but he wished that they just weren't so anal about it. 

He'd be glad to help his parents out with some of the work that needed to be done but he really, really hated doing things the Muggle way, especially something as bland and boring as_ cleaning_. And really, what kind of self-respecting wizard would subject him or herself to that?

Ducking underneath a lamp that zoomed dangerously close to his ear, he made his way to his old bedroom. Most of the furniture was already in place, but boxes cluttered up the entirety of the floor. Stomach growling, he rifled through several of his sacks before finding the clamped up bag of Muggle buiscuts, a treat that his mother had introduced him to. No way in hell was he going to venture into the kitchen--also filled with flying objects, mostly pointy utensils--to make an early dinner for himself and Oreos were good enough.

He lay back on his bed, looking at the glowing stars still stuck to his ceiling, smiling in remembrance to how they had gotten there in the first place. He had told his mother he had wanted them when he had been younger and she still had the most say in the decor of his room and she had given him a pained look and told them they were too tacky, so he had enlisted his godfather's help in placing a Permanent-Stick Charm on the backs of them before he had pasted them onto the ceiling in various constellations. Lily had been horrified.

Luckily enough, James thought it was too funny to let her punish Harry for it, though Sirius didn't escape without a few good thwaks from various flying objects.

Harry looked around the rest of the room and let his face fall into a half-hearted sneer of distaste. He wasn't ten anymore and something--God, anything--needed to be done to this room, even though he knew he wouldn't be staying in it for too long. He turned around at the knock at his door, face stuffed full of oreos.

Sirius lounged in the doorway, smiling at him. "Your mum and dad said you could use a bit of help unpacking before our trip to Diagon Alley," he said, pulling out his wand.

"I didn't know you were coming with us," Harry replied after swallowing hastily. He hoped he still didn't have bits of the biscuits still stuck to his teeth; he'd hate to look stupid in front of Sirius.

"Surprise," his godfather said, still smiling. Harry grinned back at him.

Sirius was his absolute favorite Marauder. Of course, he liked Remus, but the werewolf was too much like his mother for his taste; always thinking about consequences and other boring stuff like that. And it wasn't as though he didn't like his dad, it was just that Sirius was so cool. Unfortunately, Lily had forbidden Harry to EVER ride on "that Merlin-forsaken motorbike".

He had heard stories about Peter Pettigrew, though, the Marauder they never spoke about when Harry was around, but he was still in the pictures, round faced and rodent-featured. Harry had overheard them once when he was younger discussing what could have happened had his parents taken Sirius's advice and changed Secret Keepers. After Voldemort's downfall, he had been accused and convicted of being a Death Eater and was sent to Azkaban, receiving the Kiss not long after. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," Sirius had grumbled, and Harry had taken him at his word.

"Is Moony coming with us?" he asked, sitting on the edge of his bed watching as Sirius spelled his things to nearby shelves.

"No, he's been feeling a bit under the weather recently," Sirius said heavily.

Harry didn't say anything. His parents thought it was a secret that his godfather and Remus were together, but Harry had spied them once, snogging under the mistletoe one Yule when he was eleven. Between James's rougish winks and Lily's fervent hushing previous to that sighting, though, it was a wonder Harry hadn't come to that conclusion on his own. Honestly though, his parents acted like he was a child or something. He certainly didn't have a problem with Sirius and Remus going at it like rabbits as long as they were both happy. "Well," said Harry, "will you tell him I hope he feels better?"

"You bet," Sirius said, emptying the last of the boxes.

"Sirius?" he asked slowly, not sure how he ought to phrase his question.

"Yes?" his godfather replied, pausing from his work. He saw Harry bite his lip anxiously and lowered his wand, going to sit next to Harry on the bed.

His nearness only made Harry feel more awkward. "How did you figure out... I mean, how'd you know that..." Harry trailed off, biting his lip again.

Sirius thought he had an idea where this was going. "Is this about a girl?"

Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No," he said, rather unconvincingly and then said "No," again, more firmly. "I mean, sort of, but... well..." He could talk to Sirius about anything, he told himself. Knowing it was a competely different thing from being actually able to talk about this, though. "How did you know that you liked Remus?"

Sirius closed his eyes momentarily, exhaling and thinking, Oh God. Not what he was expecting. Not at all. He opened his eyes again. "Can't slip anything past you, huh?"

Harry frowned at him. "You're changing the subject, Sirius."

Sirius sighed again and replied, "Blimey, Harry, aren't you a bit young to be deciding which gender you're going to be chasing after?"

Harry's slight frown turned into an outright scowl. "Oh, so I'm just supposed to consider myself straight until something happens to make me think otherwise? I mean, how did you know at my age whether or not you liked girls? You did know, didn't you?"

Sirius sighed, hardly believing that he was really having this conversation with his best friend's son. "My parents weren't near as understanding as yours would be," Sirius said finally. "It's still something a lot of people frown upon and well... my parents were expecting me to uphold the family name, weren't they? I guess I was probably as confused as you must be, Harry. I thought it might be a good idea to, you know, find out for sure. Well, that didn't really work out as planned because Regulus caught me snogging a Ravenclaw boy behind one of the tapestries and went right to the owelry to send a letter to our parents." Sirius heaved a sigh. "It was hellish, but I think it was they opposition to it that really made it stick," he finished with a laugh.

Harry knew sort of what Sirius meant. Some of the boys in his classes had made jokes about the whole matter, even the word "gay" carried a negative connotation, though Harry tried to avoid using it like that after he had found out about Remus and Sirius. He just didn't understand why anyone would have a problem with two men kissing when he himself had never thought to question it. He supposed it was like some people and blood. People in America could care less who your ancestors were as long as you were half decent with a wand, but there were still people there like Sirius's family and like the Malfoys who considered themselves better because they were Purebloods.

Nobody in New York cared about that, though. They hardly cared whether or not if things had been invented by Muggles, too, so very unlike the British distaste for anything non-magical. But the Techwizarding business was gaining popularity here, too, though very few people had access to the World Wizarding Web. Harry had brought his magic-compatible computer with him, which, due to the magic, had developed sort of a personality of its own, though it was sitting innocently enough on his desk right now, turned off.

"Sirius?" he said again, thinking of another question that had been bothering him.

Sirius braced himself. "Yes, Harry?"

"What will mum and dad do if I don't get sorted into Gryffindor?"

Sirius blinked. That had not been at all what he was expecting. "Don't be silly, Harry," he said, trying to console the young wizard. "Of course you'll get sorted into Gryffindor."

Harry was frowning at him again. Wrong answer. "No, I'm being serious. What will they do if I get put into Slytherin?"

"I honestly don't know," Sirius said, thinking on it. "Calm down, they're not going to disown you or anything. They won't love you any less. But really, Harry, I highly doubt that the hat would put you anywhere but Gryffindor."

Harry was not at all convinced, but a knock on his door distracted him from his worry. His parents stood there, in the doorway, his mother with a china bowl full of floo powder.

"Are you ready to go, you two?" she asked.

Harry nodded and followed his parents into the living room without a glance back but Sirius trailed behind a bit slower, thinking.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry fidgeted nervously on the stool, waiting for Madam Malkin to finish adjusting the robes of the boy next to him. He looked to be about Harry's age with rather sharp, androgynous features and white blonde hair. The boy noticed Harry's furtive glances and smirked.

"My name's Draco," he said with a smooth drawl when Madam Malkin had left to room to go fetch something.

"Harry," Harry said, introducing himself. "Harry Potter."

"Oh yes," Draco said with a slight sneer. "My father said you were coming to Hogwarts this year, but I had forgotten. Going to be in Gryffindor, are you?"

"I don't know," Harry said, honestly, though he was getting tired of people assuming that he would be. "What house are you in?"

"Slytherin," Draco replied. "Of course, it was a given; all my family's been sorted into it."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, wondering if one always got sorted in with his or her relatives.

Draco nodded. "Imagine being sorted into Hufflepuff, though. God, I don't think my family could have taken the shame." Here, Draco paused. "Are you going to play Quidditch for your house?"

Harry shrugged. "My dad wants me to, but I'm not really interested in it. Does Hogwarts have a Quodpot team?"

Draco gave him a weird look. "You're kidding, right? Quodpot? I'm willing to bet that just about no one at Hogwarts has heard of it, much less plays it. I've got a great uncle though, who used to play for the Southeastern Stompers."

"Cool," Harry said, even though the Stompers were his favorite team's rivals. It was good though to know at least one person at Hogwarts who was familiar with the game.

"You should give Quidditch a try, though." Draco said. "One of last year's chasers graduated so I'm on the team now. My father bought us all Firebolts."

"My godfather got me a Firebolt for my last birthday," Harry said. "But I use it for racing."

"My father won't let me race," Draco said with a heavy sigh and a scowl. "Though honestly I don't know why; it's a lot safer than Quidditch."

Madam Malkin reentered the room with an armful of various sewing supplies. Draco remained silent and still as she finished up his robes and then he hopped down off the stool. "Well," he said, standing by the doorway, "I guess I'll see you at school."

"Yeah, see you," Harry said as Madam Malkin rummaged through some of the different sized robes hanging from a rack to his right.

He exited the shop holding bags heavy with several of Hogwarts uniforms, minus the colored ties and scarves which he would acquire once he had been sorted. He wondered idly what color they would turn out to be. He really thought he looked dreadful in red.

He located his parents outside of Flourish and Blotts talking to an older married couple with whom he was not familiar. They had a load of kids with them and Harry remembered again why he was glad he was an only child.

The youngest of the children seemed to be no more than two years his junior, but he couldn't be sure, the oldest, a set of twins, identical evil grins on their faces.

"There you are, Harry," Lily said, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him forward. "These are the Weasleys. Arthur and Molly were in the Order with us."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said awkwardly. He really hated being introduced to his parents' friends.

"This is Ginny," Mrs. Weasley was saying, "And Ron--he's in the same year as you--and these two trouble-makers are Fred and George. They're all in Gryffindor, too."

God, Harry thought, feeling that this was really getting old. Honestly, if he had to hear another thing about being in the same house as his parents, he thought he might just be sick. If this kept up, he'd have to get himself sorted into Slytherin somehow, just to spite them. He forced a smile anyway.

"Well, Harry, I went ahead and got all your books for you," Lily said after a few moments of awkward silence. "And you've already got your potions things, so I suppose we can just head on back home for now. We'll see you later," she said to the Weasleys.

"Bye, see you at Hogwarts," one of the twins said, and Harry waved.

God, but he missed New York already.

Things at home seemed strangely tense, or at least more so than usual. For some reason, somewhere around the time Harry had started middle school, his parents had just gone absolutely bonkers and he just couldn't figure out why. But the few weeks leading up to his departure felt more strained than he could bear. He chalked it off to being due to his attending a boarding school rather than just a day school. Not that he was worried or anything, so he couldn't fathom why his parents would be. On September 1st, he felt oddly relieved and at the same time, unbearably excited, not unlike a balloon being filled with helium, sure that he would burst any moment.

He followed his parents through the brick wall, doing his best to look nonchalant so as not to draw any attention to himself. Once on the other side, he found that his parents had already met up with the Weasleys and that Fred--or maybe George--was already heaving his trunk onto the train. Harry hid a frown and approached his parents. His mother gave him a hug, in which he simply stood there, feeling awkward. What if somebody _saw_? His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder and bid him goodbye.

Waving, he boarded the train and was about to follow Ron into an empty compartment when someone caught his arm.

"There's a free seat here, Potter," said a smooth drawling voice which he recognized instantly as Draco Malfoy's.

"I'll catch up with you later," Harry said to Ron, who had hesitated for a moment. The red head's features darkened before he nodded and turned to head towards the back of the train.

"This is Crabbe," Draco said, introducing him to a large boy sitting across from them. "And Goyle."

Harry didn't say so, but he couldn't tell them apart they both looked so large and stupid.

"And this," Draco continued, apparently not having noticed Harry's mild discomfort, "is Pansy, my girlfriend."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said awkwardly, wondering why his stomach clenched so painfully at that bit of information. He tried to squash the part of him that insisted that she wasn't Draco's type.

"Are you going to be in Slytherin?" she asked, sounding bored, but her dark eyes watched him sharply.

"I don't know," he admitted, wishing himself a hundred miles away. She shrugged and turned to look out the window. When the snack trolley came by, she didn't even bother to turn around, but Crabbe and Goyle struggled to get to the door of the compartment first and that's when one of Draco's pale hands slipped over his thigh and squeezed. Harry didn't dare make a sound and after a few dizzying moments he remembered how to breathe. It was that exact moment that Pansy chose to turn around, but Draco already had both of his hands folded innocently in his lap.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Harry, are you feeling alright?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Finally, he forced out, "I'm going to take a bit of a walk. Be back in a bit." Although he really had no intention of returning.

As he closed the door behind him, he saw Draco's smirk.

He located Ron rather easily, following the sound of yelling near the back of the train.

"I'm telling you, Hermione, that's not what he said to do!"

"Oh yes it is, Ronald," said an annoyed sounding female voice.

He shouldered his way past a few Ravenclaws to the door that stood slightly ajar. He paused nervously, wondering if he ought to interrupt. Taking a breath, he nudged the door open and took a seat between Ron and a round-faced boy clutching a toad. "What are you talking about?" Harry asked amicably.

"Oh, hi Harry," said the girl named Hermione. "Ronald has the impression that the Potions homework we were assigned over the holidays was due a week into the start of term, but Professor Snape said it was due on the very first day of class!"

"Which for all you know could be a week into the start of term!" Ron argued.

"Oh honestly, Ron. Why didn't you just do it like everyone else? Now we'll be the first house to lose points!"

Harry fought the urge to sigh exasperatedly. "I didn't know we had Potions homework over the break. You don't think he'll... take points off since I wasn't there last year?"

Ron scowled. "Knowing Snape--"

"_Professor_ Snape" Hermione interrupted him.

"Yeah, knowing Professor Greasy Git, he'll take points off for breathing."

Harry momentarily contemplated whether or not he should go back to Draco's compartment, unsure of which was worse. Wasn't anyone on this entire train remotely sane?

By the time they had arrive at Hogwarts, Harry was seriously doubting it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He followed the other students inside nervously, wondering if maybe he ought to have just gotten on the boats with the first years, since he had to be sorted too, but as soon as he had gotten inside, one of the teachers, a stern looking woman in a green robe who introduced herself as Professor McGonnagle, grabbed him by the arm and steered him towards the group of first years who stood infront of the doors to the great hall huddled together, looking terrified. Harry didn't feel much better. He got into the back of the line the professor had them make and followed, his legs feeling rather wooden as they walked past the four tables and up to the wooden stool Professor McGonnagle had set up. She placed a worn and patched up hat on the stool and then stepped back, as if waiting for something. Casting a furtive glance around, Harry noticed that the whole school seemed to have their eyes fixed upon the hat, so he stared at it, too. Then it burst into song.

Harry clapped with the rest of the school when it had finished, feeling rather dazed. When Professor McGonnagle stepped forward again, she pulled a long list out from somewhere inside her robes and started calling out names. One by one, they first years hurried up to the stool to try on the hat and each time the hat shouted out a house name. Harry had the sudden image of the hat staying on his head for a long time and then Professor McGonnagle coming and ripping it off of his head and saying that somehow they had made a mistake and that he'd have to leave. He stifled a hysteric giggle. With the last of the first years sorted, he could feel the burn of eyes upon his back.

"This year," he could hear the professor saying, though he felt that he only heard her voice through some kind of fog, "we have an exchange student from America. He will be entering as a fourth year and I expect all of you to make him feel welcome. Potter, Harry!"

Harry nervously walked up to the stool, wiping his sweaty palms on the insides of his robes, acutely aware of the eyes focused on him and the whispers that filled the room. It seemed that he couldn't escape his parents' reputation anywhere. Sitting on the stool, he placed the hat on top of his head, hoping that his shaking wasn't obvious to those sitting at the house tables. Before the hat slipped down over his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Draco, leaning forward in his chair, eyes fixed upon him. Then everything went dark. He almost jumped right off the stool when a small voice whispered into his ear "Let me see..." Harry thought that surely he was delirious and only through force of will was he able to make himself stay seated on the stool. "So eager to stand apart from your parents, and with a nice thirst to prove yourself. You want a house that will help you on your way to greatness... SLYTHERIN!"

The last word was shouted, making his ears ring. He took off the hat and walked towards the cheering table to take a seat next to Draco, whose smirk was wider than ever.

"Welcome to Slytherin," the blonde boy whispered into his ear, making Harry's spine tighten.

The only coherent thought in Harry's head was that his parents were going to kill him.

"Slytherin?" James asked, sounding completely aghast. Harry frowned into the two way mirror that used to be Sirius's, saying nothing.

"You're not going to disown me, are you?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light, joking. Something in his voice gave him away.

"Heavens, no, Harry, I--I'm proud of you." Harry resisted the urge to call his father a liar.

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of tired after the feast, so I'll talk to you later," Harry said. When he looked up, Draco was standing next to him.

"When'd you come in?" Harry snapped.

Draco smiled. "Parents not thrilled with what house you got sorted into? Pity." Harry looked away but felt the bed sink slightly as Draco sat down next to him. "I'm happy you got sorted into Slytherin, Harry," Draco hissed breathlessly into his ear.

"Yeah, about that--"

Draco kissed him.

Harry could not confess a lot of experience with kissing, but as his skin constricted into tiny pinpricks of feeling and his heart rate went through the roof, he managed to form the coherent hypothesis that, like everything else Draco owned or did, it was absolutely perfect and refined. He nearly choked when Draco bit him and pushed his tongue into his mouth.

"Merlin, Harry," Draco said, pulling back with a smirk. "It's like you've never been kissed before." Upon seeing Harry's furious red blush, his smirk widened into a smug grin.

When Draco leaned in to kiss him again, he tried to lean backwards to avoid it, but only ended up falling backwards onto his bed. Before he could get up, however, Draco was already straddling his waist and pinning his hands down to the mattress. "Wait!" Harry hissed, eyes on the door to the dormitory. "What if someone _sees_? You have a girlfriend, you know!"

"No one is going to see, Harry; I've made sure of that. Crabbe and Goyle are standing watch and it's no secret how I spend my time with other boys I bring up here."

Harry tried protesting to this, but Draco's tongue was already in his mouth again and his brain seemed to stop functioning properly. He managed to wrench his head away, and this time Draco let him, turning his attentions instead to Harry's jaw and neck.

"Draco—" he tried arguing again, groping for some intelligent sounding words. "Er—"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry," Draco said with that sort of strained patience one has with small children. "I want it, you want it, so—"

"Who says I want it?" Harry spluttered, glad that he'd been at least able to form a coherent sentence. "I don't like—"

"What," Draco snapped. "You don't like dick, Harry?"

"I, what?" Harry said. "No, I just don't want people to think—"

"So, you do?" Draco pressed. After a pause he continued, "Like dick?"

"I never said…" Harry trailed off a Draco's expression.

"Tell, me, Harry," Draco said, his tone amicable, though his expression blank, "what do you think of me? Be honest." At this he clambered off of Harry and stood, looming over him.

Harry was rather taken aback. What did he think about Draco? A number of choice words came to mind, but he didn't think it would be prudent to say them, not when two of those words were "loose" and "cannon". He cast around for something that might not get him hexed. That would be decidedly nice. "I don't even know you," Harry began, pushing himself up onto his elbows, and when Draco didn't interrupt, just lounged there against one of the posters of his bed, he hesitantly continued, "I mean, we've just met and you're already—Don't you… care about what people say?"

Draco sneered. "I sure as hell don't, but my father… Well, as long as I have Pansy, he leaves me alone about it. And everyone else is too afraid of him to even mention it. What's the matter, Harry, afraid you'll get called a fag?"

"No," Harry snapped, rising to the challenge he heard in Draco's voice.

They stared at each other for a long moment until Draco sneered at him. "Not even worth my time," the blonde grumbled, slouching off to his own bed and pulling the curtains around him. Harry sat upright, wondering what the hell had just happened. He'd never had anyone that determined to get into his pants in his entire life and then—well, he seriously doubted that Draco would just give up like that. Harry was sure that once his new housemate got over his temper tantrum that he'd renew his efforts at seduction.

Harry sighed. He'd had a couple of girls flirt with him before, but none of them had left him with the boner from hell. He glared at the silent curtains of Draco's four poster, thinking a number of uncharitable things about the blonde before stalking off to the showers.

He emerged feeling vaguely more human. Walking through the dormitory he noticed that the curtains of Draco's bed had been pulled back and that it was empty. His stomach filled with dread as he descended the stairs to the common room, expecting all eyes to be on him. However, the only person who so much glanced in his direction was Pansy, who gave him a cool stare. Draco seemed to be doing his best at ignoring him and everyone else, for that matter. He was sitting in a corner by himself, clipping loose twigs on the bristles of his broom. He had it angled so that the word "Firebolt" was clearly visible to everyone in the room. Harry thought he still looked rather cranky.

"You don't happen to know," said a voice behind him, quiet enough so that only Harry could hear, "what's got Draco in a snit, do you?"

Harry turned. A tall black boy was lounging against a high-backed chair close to Harry. The look in his eyes and his small smile—one twitch away from a smirk—said he already knew the answer to his question.

"Excuse me?" Harry snapped. He imagined he could feel Draco's blue eyes on the both of them.

"Why don't you have a seat?" the boy offered, taking the chair he had been leaning against.

Harry cast a glance back at Draco who appeared to be resolutely not paying them a bit of attention.

"I'm Blaise, by the way. Blaise Zabini."

'Great', Harry thought, as he recognized the name, 'I'm surrounded by the sons of known Death Eaters.' Harry opened his mouth to introduce himself, but Blaise cut him off.

"You should watch out for him, you know. Thinks he's a fucking princess."

"No shit," Harry replied. "How long's he going to mope around?"

"Fuck if I know," Blaise said, giving Harry a pointed look.

Harry rolled his eyes. This so wasn't worth his time. He wasn't paying good money just to have some fucking spoiled blonde get snippy with him. "Whatever. I'm going to bed."

Blaise just sat there smirking.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry it's taken me so long to get these chapters posted. ;

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Chapter 5

Potions class was awkward, if he wanted to gloss over the fact that Draco kept staring at him as if the boy had x-ray vision and could see straight through Harry's clothes, and if he could ignore Professor Snape—every bit as greasy as Sirius had made him out to be—who was staring at him as though the man had heat vision and was trying to melt Harry's face. They weren't the only ones staring, though. Being a Potter could be pretty damn frustrating sometimes.

And though Harry honestly enjoyed potions—or had while at his old school—he had to say that most of the fun was taken out of it when his every move was being assessed and graded by a man who had hated him on sight. He didn't seem to be the only one having this problem, fortunately enough for him. One of the Gryffindors—a round faced boy named Longbottom—seemed absolutely terror stricken. And though Harry had to admit that he felt slightly sorry for the boy, he was also glad for the small lapses in the attention Snape paid him as he insinuated the boy was no more fit to brew a potion than a flobberworm. He'd already lost his house thirty points only twenty minutes into class. And though Vincent and Greg seemed to be botching their potions just as badly—if not worse—Professor Snape seemed not to notice. Even Hermione Granger had lost them five points. She'd only tried to answer a question; really, he didn't see what the big deal was. He cast a sympathetic glance back towards her and Ron, but Blaise elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Harry noted when he turned his attention back to the task at hand that Draco was trying to remedy the pus-like substance simmering in Crabbe and Goyle's shared cauldron while Snape stalked across the Gryffindor side of the room, looking to take more points. Pansy rolled her eyes at her boyfriend and continued grinding scarab beetles into a fine powder.

Blaise was Harry's partner today, and was actually pretty good at potions. Their combined effort had rewarded them with a grass green substance about the same consistency of melted chocolate. According to Blaise's heavily marked textbook, they were on the right track to creating a successful Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"Now we just have to cut up these ginger roots while it simmers and is there any particular reason that Draco won't stop staring at you?"

Blaise said this evenly enough that it took Harry a moment to catch on. Harry flushed, unsure of what to say. "Hell if I know," he finally said, grateful that he sounded nonchalant.

"Mm." Blaise was smirking again.

It was in Transfiguration class that Harry met a few of his old friends. Steven Cornfoot and Kevin Entwhistle were cousins, and their whole family had been in Ravenclaw—or so they claimed—since The Grey Lady had been head of house. Their parents had known his during school, and the Cornfoots had been members of the Order. It was good to see them again, Harry thought, glad to have an excuse to escape Blaise and Draco.

"Slytherin?" Kevin exclaimed as Professor McGonagall turned her back to write on the board.

"Yeah, weird, isn't it? I've sort of noticed this trend with families."

"Oh, that's rubbish," Steven interjected. "You remember Amelia don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Harry groaned, remembering Kevin's baby sister and her crush on him all too well.

"Well, she's a second year now, and she's in Hufflepuff. I thought Aunt Jane might die of shock.

"We think it's psychological," Kevin quipped, poking at the goblet they were supposed to be transfiguring into a sparrow with his wand.

"Oh," Harry said, not sure how to respond to that hypothesis. "Ah, what about Wayne?"

"You mean Hopkins? Hufflepuff, like his dad. Says his mum can't get over watching him floo in for the holidays. Shook her up real bad when she found out they were wizards. His dad never even bothered to tell her until Wayne's owl showed up."

They quieted down when McGonagall cleared her throat and gave them a pointed look. Harry pulled out his wand and tried to concentrate on the book in front of him.

"Rod ended up going to Durmstrang, I think. Haven't heard from him in awhile now," Kevin continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry's attempt to study.

By the end of class though, he'd found out where just about everyone he'd known as a child had ended up, and even managed to produce a rather nice looking sparrow, even though there were a few jewels around its neck. Steven's bird looked alright, save for the fact that he hadn't managed to transfigure the legs properly and it was hopping around rather sadly. Kevin, for all of his talking had only managed to procure a feathered goblet that twittered a little when he gave it an experimental poke.

It was at the door that Draco accosted him. Steven and Kevin bade him farewell, even though he gave them his best pleading stare.

"After lunch we're going to the library, if you're interested," Draco said, keeping his voice low.

"Who exactly do you mean by 'we'"?

Draco rolled his eyes. "The royal we. As in, just me. You coming or not?"

"And by studying," Harry said hesitantly, "you mean—"

"Slamming you up against the nearest hard surface and fucking your brains out?" He laughed at Harry's look of surprise and trepidation. "Of course not. Just to study. Unless of course, you'd rather do something else while we're there…"

"No, no thank you. But studying does sound like a good idea." Harry would just have to make sure that they were in a place where the librarian could keep an eye on them.


End file.
